Sycamore Row - John Grisham

“How many carloads?”
“Don’t know. Wasn’t there and don’t plan on dropping by. I just hope it don’t affect
the property values in the neighborhood.”
“What neighborhood?” asked one of the geezers. “Down the road is the auction barn
that’s smelled like cow dung since I was a kid. Across the road is Luther Selby’s scrap
yard. What kinda neighborhood you talking about?”
“You know, the housing market,” the realtor fought back. “If we get these folks
moving into the wrong areas, then property values will go down all over town. It could
be bad for all of us.”
“He’s right about that,” the banker chimed in.
The merchant said, “She ain’t working, right? And her husband is a deadbeat. So how
does she afford $700 a month in rent?”
“She can’t get Hubbard’s money this soon, can she?”
“No way,” the lawyer said. “The money is locked up in the estate until the lawsuits
are gone. It’ll take years. She can’t get a penny.”
“Then where’s the money coming from?”
“Don’t ask me,” said the lawyer. “Maybe she’s charging everybody some rent.”
“The house has got five bedrooms.”
“And I’ll bet they’re all full.”
“And I’ll bet nobody’s paying her any rent.”
“They say he got picked up for drunk driving, couple of weeks back.”
“He did indeed,” the lawyer said. “Saw it on the docket, Simeon Lang. Caught him on
a Saturday morning. He put in a first appearance and Jake represented him. Got it
postponed for a while. I figure Ozzie’s involved some way.”
“Who’s paying Jake?”
The lawyer smiled and said, “Oh, we’ll never know for sure, but you can bet your ass
it’ll come out of the estate, by hook or crook.”
“If there’s anything left in the estate.”
“Which looks doubtful.”
“Very doubtful.”
The merchant said, “So back to my question. How does she afford the rent?”
“Come on, Howard. They get checks. They know how to play the system. Food
stamps, Aid to Dependent Children, welfare, housing, unemployment—they make more
sitting on their asses than most folks do working forty hours. You get five or six of ’em
in one house and all drawing checks—ain’t gotta worry about the rent.”
“True, but the Sappington place ain’t exactly subsidized housing.”
The lawyer said, “Her Memphis lawyer is probably front-loading the expenses. Hell,
he probably paid her to get the case. Think about it. If he forks over fifty or a hundred
grand, cash, up front, to get the case, then rakes off half of the estate when the ship
comes in, then it’s a good deal. Plus, he probably charges interest.”
“He can’t do that ethically, can he?”
“You mean a lawyer would cheat?”
“Or chase a case?”